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About Emily Stashower

I’m a fairly typical middle aged woman living in the suburbs of Washington D.C. After moving to the area in 1979, I’ve been reincarnated many times in my professional and personal life. Decades ago, I was a single young lady trying to make a living as a teacher in a school for children with special needs and, over the years, added a graduate degree in Hospital Administration, got married, moved to the ‘burbs and had twins in 1990. Now, I’m qualified as an empty nester (somehow I’m not successful as the twins return to roost while in transition) and am trying to find my way in the new role as post Soccer Mom, carpooler, volunteer, house manager, cook, party planner, disciplinarian and grow into the more frightening area of “self improvement and development.” Hence the attempt to relate a very ordinary life (mine) in an approachable, “current” manner and platform (Blogging). The point is, I’m a real person and nothing special. I don’t want an airbrushed bio or blog. What I do want is an appeal to others in a similar position who can relate to my life and, I hope, the same will be true in reverse.

A long time ago (in my misspent youth), probably around the late 1960’s or early 1970’s, I had a brilliant idea. Looking around at the sparsely decorated white walls of my teenaged bedroom, I thought nothing would do but that I decorate those painted walls with brightly colored, very groovy, mod, abstract flower-power stickers. Think about the decorations of a VW or perhaps a Peter Max poster and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what those stickers looked like. In fact, they are widely available and they bring a smile to my face whenever I see them. The hippie in me will never fade, I guess. Do these look familiar to anyone?

I was particularly attracted to the most vivid, brilliantly colored ones: bright pink petals and an orange center! Chartreuse circular centers surrounded by shocking yellow and, just to tame it a bit, purple and blue stickers were scattered in between those really big, bright, colorful ones. I’m pretty sure I added a peace sign or two but it was the flowers that made it a masterpiece. Did I mention how sticky they were? This was in the day before removable stickers that could be repositioned were sold – once one of these stickers was placed on a wall, there they stayed. I gave absolutely no thought to peeling off the paper backing and sticking them all over my room. I stepped back, looked at my artistic mastery and immediately smiled. It was so happy, so much fun and lively!

My mother thought otherwise and, years later, when it came time to transform my room into one for guests, I think my parents spent hours painstakingly removing them (if I look really closely at the wall, I think I can still see where one had to be chipped out and there’s some spackle and paint as evidence). Now, as an empty nester myself, I understand their displeasure but at the time, all I can recall is the feeling of pure joy. I was feeling groovy.

I think about those days and the joy Flower Power stickers brought me and wonder if some of that exuberance and desire to be surrounded in color hasn’t, in some way, carried over into adulthood. Although I’ve always loved – actually, I crave – color, it hasn’t been until the last decade or so that that passion for strong color combinations has been channeled into gardening and the types of plants I am consistently attracted to. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why in these months when it’s harder to get my “color fix” just by wandering around a garden outdoors, it’s even more important to me to continue coaxing bulbs in the colder months. I need the colors growing throughout winter: bulbs, blooming plants and the occasional indulgence of a bright bouquet (there’s nothing quite so satisfying as a bright bunch of tulips in a vase during these cold, winter months). Now, as I look around my house, it’s pretty easy to see hints of the teenager in me:

I’m NOT an orchid person and yet? The sunny, floor to ceiling window in my dining room is filled with blooming plants. It’s actually become somewhat of a joke because, despite my protests, I take withering, half dead orchids from my friend, Kelly, and somehow – despite my lackadaisical approach and complete lack of orchid education – they thrive. The stronger the color, the more delighted I am. The plants with what I consider unusual color combinations (e.g. purple and chartreuse) are personal favorites and when I see buds forming on a plant I had long ago give up for dead, I can’t help but be excited to see what will unfold. Sure, I have a few standards and solid colored orchids and I love them – they are reliable bloomers and bring a sense of calm to the cacophony of color – but when these “Kelly Orphans” were recently revived? As Jimmy Cliff sang, “Here is that rainbow I’ve been praying for . . . it’s gonna be a bright (bright) sunshiny day.”

Starting in December, it is, for our family, Amaryllis Time. Previously I’ve written about my family’s tradition of selecting a traditional amaryllis to give to family and friends as a holiday gift. It’s a process my mother started years ago and has continued, thanks to my father, despite her passing almost six years ago. I know he carefully reviews the choices, makes sure we’re not repeating varieties and I like to think that he tries to incorporate my mother’s aesthetics into the year’s selection. Last year’s “Caprice” was a stunner and some of us are trying to bring it back to flower this year.

While waiting for the traditional amaryllis to bloom, I enjoy coaxing other bulbs to bring color and life into the house. The waxed amaryllis are lovely not only for their colorful wax but for their reliable, brilliant flowers and ability to grow without any maintenance (though they are controversial as they are “one and done”) and I’ve enjoyed watching their progress. They bring the same vibrancy and exuberance as those stickers did long ago without the permanence and aggravation In addition, when I’ve sent one to a friend, the progress is excitedly chronicled via Facebook and they, too, are embracing nature’s beauty:

Paper whites, cut flowers and assembling greens from the yard mixed in with herbs, seasonal vegetables (I especially love using unusually shaped fruits mixed with different colored artichokes) also bring life indoors and I find myself drawn to using whatever plates and dining accessories I have that represent nature when setting a holiday table. Obviously the teenager who once decorated her room in groovy flower power stickers has matured but she’s not gone.

One of the bulbs I have growing was selected because it’s one of the few that produces a striped flower. Instead of the more predictable, single petal (and quite lovely) red flower, this copper bulb promises to produce at least two stalks of brightly red striped white flowers. Of all the waxed amaryllis I’ve been coaxing this winter, it is this one that has proven to be the most anticipated and the most stubborn. I inquired and was told that yes, the striped variety is slower to start but assuming the bulb stays in tact, the results are well worth it. I’m now in the stages – I’ll admit it – of expecting a magnificent show any minute now. There are three stalks on this amaryllis and now, late in January, they are beginning to put on a show – yes, it’s worth the wait:

Amaryllis ‘terra mystica’ (my father’s Annual Amaryllis selection this year) has also been slow to start and I’ve placed these bulbs together in a warm spot by a sunny window in my bedroom. They are one of the last things I see before going to bed and one of the first things I see when I wake in the morning. Watching their growth has been delightful and the color adds so much to the “view” during these cold weather months. The traditional amaryllis began slowly but it’s now beginning to produce blossoms in earnest. This year’s selection did not disappoint and the beautiful earthy color is rich and unique:Now things seem to bloom daily and it’s almost as exciting as my summer ritual of touring the garden to seek growth and change. No doubt about it – I’m feeling pretty groovy with Flower Power.

It is late November and with earlier (often spectacular) sunsets, moderating temperatures and gardens now showing signs of dormancy, there’s a distinctly different feeling in the air. It seems like it only took a few days for the seasons to change and the landscape is quickly following suit. When acorns pelleting our roof become a constant and replace the sounds of chirping birds, I know the backyard’s path will soon be cold and covered with sharp objects. Gone are the days when I could open the backdoor and, barefooted, impulsively run out to investigate something new in the garden. The paths are now covered with fallen limbs, unripened vegetables, debris and those sharp, spiny acorn caps demanding shoes .

That’s not to say there aren’t incredible sights right now: like many other people, Fall’s landscape is one of my favorite sights. This is a season when, if desired, there’s a lot to explore in addition to enjoying the changing foliage and some of the changes take a little more patience to discover and appreciate. As my warm weather morning ritual of exploring becomes occasional rather than daily, I’m constantly amazed at the discoveries found right outside my door. Some are planned and anticipated, while others can be a delightful, unexpected surprise. The other day, desperate for some color to bring inside the house, I scoured the garden in hopes of gathering a few greens, perhaps some color, to put in a new vase. I was amazed to see the return of the beautiful dahlia that wooed me out of bed after August’s surgery and could not have been more delighted with the asters and toad-lilies dotting the garden’s beds:

This is a time of the year to appreciate change and remember how things looked during the traditional blooming season. My low growing, late blooming tube clematis c. heracleifolia that was covered with sweet purple blooms only a few weeks ago has been transformed. Gone is the purple and in its place are these spectacular seed pods adding an intriguing shape and almost metallic color to the bed:

The amsonia’s blooms are one of my early summer favorites and now, as the flowers are a distant memory, I’ve come to appreciate this beauty all the more as the leaves turn into their own wispy, apricot, spectacular sight providing a lovely backdrop for the late season willow leaf sunflowers.

That was then . . . This is now.

As I made my way around the yard, I passed beautiful bushes, specifically noticing their unique growth patterns, the colors of their bark and the distinct shapes of leaves now changing color that before, I probably didn’t appreciate because I was so busy looking for blooms. This is the time of year to appreciate the “bones” of the landscape and I fall in love with the garden all over again. As I wound my way to check in on the woodland section of the yard, something very bright – VERY pink – caught my eye. It was tiny and took some effort to get down on the ground to meet it at eye level. How delightful to find some cyclamen blooming in a part of the yard where I know they weren’t intentionally planted . . . not by someone with two hands and a trowel, that is. What’s more, I have a lovely pink cyclamen growing out of a rock! Obviously someone with four legs has been helping me garden this year:

In the woodland area, the most nostalgic part of the garden because I’ve tried to plant things to remind me of treasures I discovered while growing up in Cleveland, the only evidence of my efforts was with the bright red seeds (which I hope will scatter and take hold) of the Jack in the Pulpit.

That was then . . . This is now:

There’s beauty in plants that once bore brilliant flowers: their shape, seeds, pods and changing leaves are intriguing and have a unique aesthetic only found this time of year. The fothergilla that was so delightful in the spring when covered with fluffy white blooms is just as beautiful now as the shrub is ablaze with colorful leaves and the honeysuckle that bloomed wildly over a trellis all summer is now adorned with bright red berries. In the Green Bed, the remaining shape of the once brilliant blue plumbago strikes a particularly lovely sight even without the color as the remaining shape and richly colored leaves resting against a boulder is a gorgeous seasonal sight.

In this post, Guest Blogger Dana Davis describes her life-long passion for public art. With an appreciation for public art’s history, significance, aesthetics and practical applications, Dana explores several magnificent examples of public art and how they made her appreciate the “view” (and purpose) from many different perspectives. Whether visiting Botanical Gardens, an Arboretum, touring a city or taking a stroll around the block, Dana encourages all of us to embrace (and notice) public art’s role in the landscape. Take a look . . . you, too, will be inspired.

Dana Davis, Former Past President and Board Member of the Valley Art Center in Chagrin Falls, Ohio, often posts unique public art installations on Facebook. This is her first – but we hope not last – post on Roots in Reality. Ms. Davis represents public art, and Cleveland, proudly. Thank you, Dana!

My sister and I had the pleasure of visiting the Atlanta Botanical Gardens (atlantabg.org) on a hot and steamy day this past July. The organization is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year and invited celebrated Dale Chihuly (chihuly.com) to install his amazing work in the gardens all around the property. The end result was an awe inspiring exhibit of glass that mimics and enhances the gardens in seemingly impossible ways. It was so beautiful and inspirational that I am still thinking and talking about the exhibit months later. The artist was able to weave his glass into the natural elements so completely that visitors felt compelled to discover each piece with feelings of excitement and anticipation. What a joy for a first time visitor to learn every nook and crazy of these gardens in this fashion!

I am a fan of public art. Public art has been around for hundreds of years, often in tandem with gardens. All over Europe, a visitor can enjoy sculpture in public spaces and private gardens. The Hapsburg Dynasty alone left Austria, Spain and France covered with amazing giant horses and warriors perched high atop beautiful white buildings, leaving one to wonder how the heck did they get those heavy bronzes up there? I still don’t know.

What is exciting, thought, is how public art can also be an economic development tool. In Cleveland, where I have lived all my life, public art is generating new life into neighborhoods and parts of downtown. Witness, for example, how exciting our Playhouse Square (playhousesquare.org) looks like with an “outside the box” chandelier reigning over the street:

At the Holden Arboretum (holdenarb.org), a lovely 3,600 acre horticultural gem located a half hour east of Cleveland, a visitor can climb an architectural marvel of a 120 foot tower to view miles of trees and Lake Erie from above the treetops and walk a canopy walk through the tops of the trees to see what it feels like to be a bird. Families are streaming into the park to visit this new addition. Sometimes, though, the kids are more excited about that height than the parents! I witnessed more than a couple of dads nervously climbing those stairs.

On a smaller scale, the Valley Art Center in Chagrin Falls (valleyartcenter.org) recently turned a concrete block wall into a lovely mural, garnering lots of discussion and attention about the role of public art in historic towns. Chagrin Falls is a lovely old mill town with a fantastic waterfall and the powers that be guard its traditional elements carefully. Painting a mural was a huge topic of discussion (and a bit of a battle). However, the result of installing a mural on the side of the building was a huge increase in visitors and support for a community art center. Full disclosure — I am a Board of Trustee member at the VAC.

Of course, there are hundreds of examples of how use of public art is translating into visitors and economic boost. I have enjoyed a sculpture competition in Sioux Falls, SD where you voted on your favorite of over 30 sculptures installed on the downtown sidewalks. That contest forced you to walk all over the downtown. I have seen amazing installations in gardens to Montreal to Tokyo. I regularly post unique pubic art installations on my Facebook page, many of which feature the use of ordinary items like logs or sand to create amazing art. Unfortunately, though, sometimes locals are the ones who miss out . . . after visiting the Chihuly in the Garden exhibit, my sister and I mentioned to everyone we met how amazing it was – and not ONE of the Atlanta residents had seen it.

Labor Day is a distant memory, the kids have been back at school long enough to be in the swing of the academic year, football season has started, the World Series has begun (GO TRIBE!), the sun is setting earlier and yet? So far, autumn still feels a little like summer. Halloween approaches (in fact, some department stores have already leapt ahead with Christmas displays) and cooler weather clothing is now in the closet but still, it doesn’t quite feel like it’s time to think about nature’s transition into another season. This is a time of the year when I still yearn for the summer’s vibrancy and look at my garden and see some color yet it’s hard to ignore the withering plants and wonder where the summer has gone. August was cruel with heat, little rain and oppressive humidity. As the seasons change, NOW is a fabulous time to explore the beautiful public (and private) gardens – no matter where you live – and see the remaining beauty of Summer and the spectacular, unique and unexpected sights of Fall.

In the DC Metro area, we have a number of fabulous gardens to explore: River Farm. Ladew Topiary Gardens, McCrillis Gardens, Meridian Hill Park, Dumbarton Oaks Park, Green Spring Gardens, Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens and each holds a unique feeling. Because McCrillis and Locust Grove are close to my home, I visit them often and am very familiar with each path. I know Locust Grove’s Native Garden and have enjoyed watching it evolve over the seasons. Its’ natural beauty and meandering trails are accessible, peaceful and always provide spectacular views. McCrillis, too, is a natural, serene setting and in my opinion, it is beautiful year round but many flock to it in the spring for their tremendous inventory of azaleas. Over this past weekend, my husband and I decided to walk through Brookside Gardens (www.brooksidegardens.org) in Wheaton, Maryland because we haven’t been there since their recent extensive renovations and needed a glimpse of whatever summer color remained and experience those unique senses so specific to this season.

Simply driving into the parking lot – before you even go down any of the trails or explore the multitude of diverse, themed gardens, this is what you are treated to:

After going through the Visitor Center and entering the grounds, it’s immediately apparent that Brookside’s attention to detail encompasses just about everything from seating . . .

. . . to how the gardens are organized. Whether you’re in search of gardens highlighting native plants, intrigued by the Fragrance Garden, Aquatic Garden, Rain Garden, Butterfly Garden, Trial Garden and/or more, Brookside has it. It also has two Conservatories and programs year round. There’s is no “best” time to explore Brookside’s 50 acres – it’s a place with year round interest and unique beauty, events and activities. For those who only go to Brookside during the winter holidays for their amazing Festival of Lights, I encourage you to continue the tradition and add another season to the roster. No matter when you go, you’ll be delighted and there’s so much to explore.

There were a few areas I thought were particularly well done and original, starting with the “outdoor school” garden. Even more exciting? It was filled with excited families exploring the area, aware that through nature, all can be taught (and learned). The area is designated by this sign

and surrounded by a white picket fence. Inside there are separate “subject” areas, such as math, music and science, using plants and decorative objects to unify the “lesson plan. As we wandered through the area – (we brought the average age UP a few years but we didn’t mind) – we, too, were engrossed in the day’s lessons. The explosions of color and use of a little stage area, quotes on signs and groupings of plants to attract and identify pollinators excite a student of any age:

Exiting the Outside School we entered, appropriately, a vignette garden dedicated to COCKTAILS!!! We were greeted by a succulent covered figure carrying cocktail glasses in her hand:

The Cocktail Garden is an appealing way to display plants that can easily be grown in your garden and used in your kitchen. The display (pictured below) shows how cleverly plants can be identified and better yet? Recipes are available for visitors. It was fun exploring those beds and seeing not only what kinds of plants can be used for consumption, but just how beautiful they are in a garden setting. In fact, many of them, such as lavender and mint, are things you probably already grow. Brookside includes some more unique ingredients, such as Meyer lemons and jalepenos, and the point was well made: think about how you can use plants in your garden for aesthetic as well as practical purposes. It doesn’t have to be one or the other:

Leaving the Cocktail Garden to explore new areas brings the eye to so many exceptional sites: the thistle growing in a bed of brilliant textures and colors (nice of the swallowtail to pose on that thistle, wasn’t it?), beds of blooms with so many colors it looked like an Impressionist painting and areas clearly transitioning to a new season and proudly displaying the beauty of seed pods and changes in the coloring of leaves:

Wandering through Brookside was a beautiful reminder that certain crocuses do bloom in the autumn, that sedum and roses can entwine and coexist beautifully and that containers can be exciting:

Brookside’s displays of unique fountains, paths, a gingko themed canopy can be enjoyed while looking at the plants surrounding a body of water or crossing a bridge over aquatic gardens. Said differently? By wandering through such a beautifully planned and well thought out garden, it’s clear that whether one is planting a garden bed, figuring out what to place in a container or adding elements for visitors to sit for a break, they can co-exist perfectly, reinforce nature’s theme and unique beauty and, in fact, be functional, too.

As we walked under the beautiful purple plant covered arches to make our way to the exit, I couldn’t help but find exceptional beauty only found this time of the year – seeing the seed pods and other changes in plants reminded me not only to enjoy the season we’re currently in, but that now is a time with a whole lot of hints about what’s yet to be explored:

Fonder? I’m not sure. More untamed, full of weeds and needing maintenance? Definitely. August has been a month when I’ve abandoned my usual morning routine of walking through the garden to check in on things and, as weather, mood and conditions allow, tend to the summer’s landscape. This summer has been an unusual one and for personal reasons (including a tonsillectomy at the ripe old age of 58 – an excruciatingly painful surgery I encourage anyone over the age of 8 to avoid) I haven’t been able to visit my garden and appreciate it as much as in summers before.
It’s August – the Dog Days are definitely upon us, oppressive heat discourages me from doing much of anything and as I slowly recuperate from the surgery (popsicles are definitely not a fabulous source of energy and for now, ice cream seems to makes things worse), I am finding myself a little more curious (and guilty) about what’s going on in the garden. Was it just a month ago when things looked so lush and full of optimism? Perennials were plentiful, annuals still fresh and adding summer color, trees and shrubs were blooming, there was enough rain to make watering less of a chore and sitting on the patio in the evening was genuinely enjoyable.

Just a month ago, the White Chiffon Rose of Sharon was loaded with blooms, the day lilies, sundrops, St. John’s Wort and other perennials filled every square inch of the bed, Green Bed’s layers of different green tones and textures were punctuated by “winecups” – full and flowing like never before and at every turn, there was something colorful, blooming and/or lush. At that time, I was fighting back chronic tonsil pain and figured it would eventually go away – just as it had done for the majority of my life. But I couldn’t ignore it any more and after more than six doses of antibiotics, I knew it was time to take more decisive action and seek a permanent solution to my nagging tonsillitis. What better time to schedule it than summer? Knowing it meant eating cold foods and living life at a slower pace, it seemed only fitting to have the surgery during August’s “Dog Days.” I looked at the status of my garden in late July, felt it was in pretty good shape and bid it a fond, but temporary, good-bye so I could focus on surgery and recuperation. I’d seen the glory of Spring, filled the glazed pots with summer’s annuals and knew that August was the month when gardening, like so many other things, might just have to take a back seat to other priorities.

After the first few horrible days were behind me, I could only glance out the two story window and take a mild, almost disconnected, interest in the Pollinator Parade happily taking place right in front of me. I didn’t even have to get out of bed to see the brilliant yellow and dark blue swallowtails bending the branches on the Butterfly Bush. In a brief, and I mean brief, burst of energy I snapped a couple of pictures from the kitchen window. It took a lot to get me moving and I’ll admit my interest wasn’t infectious or more than cursory.

Looking out the window into the backyard, I could also pretend to be interested in the Native Bed and again, with fleeting interest I snapped a few pictures of the Cardinal Lobelia, Mountain Mint, Rudbeckia, Helenium, Butterfly Weed & other “standbys.” It was nice to see the plants return, it makes for a lovely view and I’m glad the garden has good enough “bones” to move forward even when I’m standing still and almost deliberately ignoring the joy, and work, of gardening. When I saw branches in need of trimming, daisies in sore need of deadheading and weeds winning the continuous battle for precious real estate, I glared at the garden, decided I really wasn’t feeling well enough to be bothered, looked at the skies in hope of rain and returned to bed. It pains me to admit this but I almost became resentful towards the garden. How dare it need me? Wasn’t it supposed to cheer me up and be a source of inspiration and solace? I just felt annoyed and all I could see was work, areas that needed attention and really dry garden beds. Yes, even turning on the hose seemed like too much of an imposition.

My absence from the garden came at a time when summer’s relentless heat and sparse amounts of rains couldn’t have come at worse time (in terms of gardening as well as enjoying the summer and all related activities). Yes, a tonsillectomy – that “kid’s procedure” – stopped me in my tracks and kept me from engaging in much of anything, especially gardening. I let friends know I would be “out of commission for a few weeks” and read up on what my limitations would be: at least a week of intense pain, limitations on what I could eat, possible complications, intense fatigue and lethargy, difficulty sleeping, discomfort and did I mention horrific pain? Think “swallowing shards of glass for two weeks” and you’ll have an idea of what it is like to have a tonsillectomy. No, it’s not about milkshakes and delicious, creamy ice cream heaped in bowls during the sweltering heat. The cream made me choke and the area has been so swollen I’ve been lucky to get ice chips down there to prevent dehydration and taking any medication at all has taken heroic efforts. If it ravaged my body this much, imagine what it has done to my garden?

What has concerned me the most about this recent medical incident has been how it affects my mood. It kept me from my morning ritual of touring the garden, exploring the various beds, checking on the status of my favorites, excitedly looking for nests, anticipating blooms and taking pictures. Days have passed when I simply could not rouse myself out of bed, down the stairs and into the garden. It wasn’t just the physical activity, it was the initiative and interest – my garden didn’t beckon me and I scoffed at well meaning suggestions to “get some fresh air – it will make you feel better!” Pshaw. At 100 degrees outside and knowing my garden went largely untended (other than my kind husband doing some watering), I just couldn’t work up the interest or enthusiasm to see what was going on in the garden and even if I did, what would I do? Would I be frustrated by the amount of work to be done? Probably and there was nothing I could do about it because I’m still under restrictions for physical activity. In addition, although the garden has evolved over time and carefully planted to provide year round interest with an emphasis on low maintenance, there is no such thing as a “no maintenance” garden and even with “good bones,” my garden needs an assist throughout the year. Annuals are added in areas needing color, glazed colored pots need replenishing as the months go on and at the height of summer, it is especially nice to refresh the garden with some serious work, whether it’s additions, thinning things out (much as I love my Mountain Mint, it’s taking up a lot of real estate), adding some “instant pretty” with pre-planted, blooming pots scattered throughout the beds or planting a few plants that will come to bloom in the coming month.

Things started to change one morning, just a few days ago, when I was starting to feel a little better and decided to take a look out back in the Native Bed. Just by glancing out the windows I could see some color and knew, from previous summers, there would be some visual interest and a few new things had been added in Spring so perhaps there would be a few surprises. With a pretty lousy attitude and definite lack of enthusiasm, I dragged myself out to the garden. As I glanced around and saw the “regulars,” something grabbed my eye – it wasn’t a familiar flower, I know it wasn’t there last year and it was definitely an usual sight in the bed. It captured my attention enough to keep luring me into the garden for the next few days.

Over the last few days, this lovely flower – a spectacular, tall dahlia with chocolate colored, unusual foliage – brought me back to the garden. Sure, I have dahlias elsewhere in the garden but this one? This is a beauty and it’s so unique, unexpected and incredibly interesting, it grabbed my curiosity, got the better of me and helped me return to the garden with love and interest. Watching this dahlia grow, and photographing it’s beautiful progression, has helped me return to my summer’s routine of touring the garden every morning. I know there are healing gardens and no, I’m not comparing my garden to those magnificent gardens. But in its own small way, this new addition to my landscape has been my healing garden and for that, I’m grateful because now, each morning, I can not wait to go check on the status of this beautiful dahlia.

There’s more to this story and in some ways, it’s even more special than returning to my morning routine of wandering through the garden. For the last few summers I’ve tried to grow moon-vines because I’ve always been intrigued by flowers that bloom at night. In my dreams (pun intended), I have a “Night Garden” with interest, blooms, fragrance and a magical, almost mysterious feeling, enticing me outdoors in the evening. I view that garden as a bonus – I already have something to start each day, how nice it would be to have something luring me outdoors to wander through the garden each night (other than the watering chores). In years past, however, for many reasons I’ve not had much success with moon-vines. This year, I decided to plant a vine in the front of the house, climbing up the wall next to the garage. I put it there because it would be hard to ignore and if successful, it would great guests to the house if they visited in the evening (silly though it may seem, it appealed to me thinking about welcoming evening visitors with open blooms at the door’s entrance). Yesterday, as we pulled out of the driveway on our way to a doctor’s appointment, I noticed a peculiar growth on the moon-vine. Was it possible? Was it about to flower? You know the answer – yes. Last night I was treated to my first flower opening at night on the moon-vine.

Although I still have a little ways to go in terms of recuperating from the tonsillectomy, I think I’m just about there in terms of re-uniting with the garden. I’m now much more interested in going out each morning to check on the garden and look at the dahlia’s progress. My bonus track? In the evening, I’m looking forward to going outside to see the beautiful blooms on my moonflower vine. Absence definitely made my garden grow (somewhat out of control) and it also made my heart grow fonder.

The discovery of an active nest is one of those unexpected treasures you can’t possibly script. As observant as one may be, or as familiar as you are with your yard, a nest may appear in the most unexpected places and/or return to some of the predictable locations in your garden. I can’t remember a summer within the past five or so years when I haven’t had at least one nest in the juniper tree and another nestled in the hollies. The nests are strategically located behind a thick tangle of prickly leaves, using a brick wall to provide added support on one side with strong branches from mature trees as the nest’s “cradle.” Every spring I watch the birds in my yard and inevitably, they lead me to where they are building a nest. Especially in the initial days of summer, nests are being discovered all the time (and many birds lay another clutch of eggs in the fall) and the Internet is flooded with magnificent discoveries. Nests can be discovered on the ground, in bird houses, within the cavity of a tree, constructed in almost any discarded object, in chimneys . . . you name it: become aware of the possibilities and soon you, too, will start looking for nests.

Early in the morning, sometimes before we “Spring Forward” and change our clocks in preparation for the summer’s months, I wake to the gentle cooing of the Mourning Doves. Before I begin the summer routine of touring the garden to check in on plants, see what’s growing (or not) and making a “to do” list for cleaning, planting and summer maintenance, I start looking for nests. This year started a little different initially – the first Mourning Dove of the season was spotted in the holly tree, previously the first ones were in the juniper tree and almost all were successful (we had one unfortunate outcome, courtesy of a tenacious predator). In the following months, continuing into “official summer” I continue to find nests. It’s a little unusual to find some nests as summer’s heat begins in earnest but for me, it’s not about the science of ornithology – it’s about the thrill of the Retweet. Finding nests, summer after summer, is a form of gardening for me. As much as I despise the juniper tree – it’s ungainly, prickly (and we all know I’ve got a “thing” about texture) and it’s starting to encroach on the sunny spots in the yard, making it difficult to figure out how to plant in my beloved Green Bed. But it’s a price I’m willing to pay because it has been home to so many nests. Importantly, it was home to the first nest which got me hooked on finding nests in the yard. As I walk past the scratchy, ungainly tree, I mutter to the tree “your only saving grace is being home to the plentiful, magical, amazing nests.” Grr.

And yet? Summer after summer, in 98% of the mourning dove nests built in the garden, I’ve been treated to the following (and I never tire of it – each nest is special, new and unique):

Mourning Dove Nest With Eggs

Doves Beginning to Hatch

Last summer’s nest in the climbing hydrangea full of sparrows, was an unexpected treat. I found it only because, while sitting in the kitchen, I noticed a lot of sparrows diving in and out of the climbing vines and after a few days, when the activity began to slow down, I casually walked by the climbing hydrangea and glanced into the tangle of leaves. Sure enough, there it was – a sparrow’s nest. Each egg was the size of a marble and I couldn’t imagine how they would hatch, hold the weight of an adult and the hatchlings:

Song Sparrow Nest

With Cornell’s NestWatch program, I not only got information about the occupants (notice how one egg is different – a Cowbird dropped an egg in there and was lucky enough to have it nurtured by the sparrow) but I registered the nest so they could get information about bird populations they ordinarily wouldn’t have access to. If you are at all interested in learning more about birds or want to participate in any of their “Citizen Scientist” programs, I strongly encourage you to visit NestWatch.org to learn more about their wonderful programs to become familiar with their Code of Conduct Guide so you can responsibly observe nests. By following their Code of Conduct not only do you enjoy the beauty of nature, you do so responsibly and have the opportunity to be the “eyes and ears” for Cornell’s ornithologists as they keep track of increasing and declining bird populations. They also have incredible programs for educators and offer an array of outreach, educational and fun programs. Learning about how nests are built and why locations are desired for different species, understanding the adult’s behaviors (such as turning the eggs so they develop evenly), following expected incubation times and becoming familiar with what to expect makes the entire experience that much more meaningful.

As I sat in the kitchen with the morning’s coffee, camera nearby, this is what I had a front row seat to (notice the cowbird – it’s the one with the wide, flat beak). I thought it was a nest hog:

Four sparrows, one cowbird – all healthy, well fed and eventually, they fledged the nest. The nest is there but so far, although I’ve seen a lot of sparrow activity in the area, I haven’t seen another nest but I keep hoping. There’s nothing quite so wonderful as the surprise of a discovered nest – especially when it’s an active nest. That’s right, I’m waiting for a “Retweet.”

Just last week, as my early summer routine of touring the garden in the morning began, I was delighted to discover:

Robins Nest

Sure, I’ve had plenty of robins nests previously and I know exactly what to expect. For now, I’m only checking, thanks to binoculars, on the nest from time to time to see if there’s a little more activity. A few summers ago, just as I was fortunate with the sparrow’s nest, I was able to watch robins hatch. I know it will go something like this:

But when/if it happens in the coming days, it will be like “Groundhog’s Day” as if I’ve never seen anything so remarkable before in my life. It is new and exhilarating every single time. Each nest, every nestling is a precious gift. I’m just fine with “re-tweeting” and welcome the hatchlings arrival. It’s not too late in the season – next time you are taking a walk, visiting gardens and/or working in your yard, take the time to carefully look at unexpected places to see if there are nests. You would be surprised at their location(s). On the Internet I’ve seen nests built in mailboxes, discarded shoes in the yard, built on the ground, found in the cavity of a tree, nestled in an unused outdoor fireplace and typically, in the eaves on a house. When friends tag me on Facebook to show me their nest (in Cleveland, Debbie’s mourning dove nest was in a hanging basket of flowers she recently purchased at the nursery. So excited, she neglected the flowers to give the doves their space and although the flowers looked pretty spent, Debbie couldn’t have been more delighted to see the mother dove nestling her newborns. Another friend in Texas, Laura, found a nest filled with blue speckled eggs in a ficus tree she placed on her porch) I’m thrilled and share in their excitement.

It’s not just flowers that are blooming this summer – as your garden welcomes pollinators and appreciates their hard, important work, please keep an eye out for the treasure of finding a nest. You’ll be surprised by how attached you become to that precious cargo and how invested you become in the process. Please be a responsible nest watcher by following the guidelines so carefully explained on www.nestwatch.org and enjoy the show!

If you’re in the mood to step back in time and visit one of our area’s many amazing locations, please consider going to the Hillwood Estate: Museum & Gardens, the former home of Marjorie Merriweather Post. In 1914, when Marjorie Merriweather Post was only 27 years old, she became the sole heiress to the Post Cereal Company and one of the wealthiest women in America. Marjorie’s passion for the arts and access to a world of prominent social figures, serious art collectors, connections to Hollywood, key business leaders, political leaders and more is evident throughout Hillwood. It’s unlikely for someone to visit Hillwood and not become immersed in some aspect of her incredible life.

In 1955, after her divorce from her third husband (Joseph Davies, the second ambassador to Russia), Marjorie Merriweather Post bought Hillwood and renovated the estate, including the massive gardens, with a vision: the 2 year project would be a museum and home to astonishing art collections (specifically known for the Imperial Russian Collection and French decorative arts) and she designed formal garden in the landscape specifically to highlight mature specimens.

The mansion and gardens are wonderful year round and there’s so much to discover, it’s hard to know where to start. If you’re planning a visit, I strongly suggest looking through the website to become familiar and map out your visit – http://www.hillwoodmuseum.org. There’s a calendar with events, hours, entrance fees, exhibits and what’s in bloom (some of the art exhibits change and there are special events) and I highly recommend, from personal experience, making a reservation for their special tea offered only on Sundays – wonderful food, exceptional setting.

Last week, on a rare sunny day, I met two friends at Hillwood to celebrate one friend’s birthday and to finally get outside and enjoy Spring which has been making infrequent appearances during this month. Tired of being inside, our focus was on the gardens and after spending a few hours there, I still feel like there was so much to explore. Here’s what we experienced and I can’t stress this enough – Hillwood is worth making time for and it’s the kind of place one wants to return to no matter what’s on display in the mansion nor what is in bloom in the gardens.

After parking the car and paying a small fee for admission, I walked to the “Motor Court” at Hillwood’s entrance. The Motor Court greeted guests at gates and was designed to allow people to drive around plantings to get an introduction to the Hillwood experience. A statute of Eros, the Greek god of love, welcomes visitors and it’s quite easy to imagine transportation stopping under the porte cochere (a covered drive) as the footmen scurried out of the house to escort guests indoors. Chauffeurs would then take the cars and park them where they would be out of sight. Think PBS and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what you’ll be seeing at Hillwood.

Hillwood’s Motor Court

My friends and I then decided to explore the Cutting Garden, made up of long, rectangular, very straight rows of flowers. This is the utilitarian part of the gardens as their purpose would be to decorate the mansion and other buildings on the estate with fresh cut flowers. The extensive Greenhouses are next to the cutting gardens and together, they provided more than enough natural decoration for the massive estate and buildings. The orchids in bloom in the Greenhouse were breathtaking.

Hillwood’s Cutting Garden

Hillwood’s Cutting Garden

Greenhouse Orchids

Greenhouse Orchids

Next to the cutting beds, in less structured rows but clearly defined planting beds, were tremendous blooms. The foxglove, peonies, catmint, heucheras irises and more blooms were lush, colorful, fragrant and plentiful. It was beautiful – like looking at an impressionist painting.

Hillwood in Bloom

Peony

Hillwood in Bloom

Hillwood in Bloom

Hillwood in Bloom

The Rose Garden, though not in full bloom during our visit in mid-May, is an important area on the estate. Marjorie Post had, in 1956, hired Perry Wheeler to adapt the garden to better suit her taste. Perry Wheeler had assisted with the White House’s Rose Garden design and although I’ve no basis for comparison, it was clear that Ms. Post, knowledgeable about so many topics, knew how to seek the best and use that talent and expertise to reflect her interests and preferences. Wheeler worked on Hillwood’s Rose Garden to achieve an intricate balance between each bed and as such, each bed is planted with one variety of a summer blooming floribunda. The Rose Garden also includes early blooming tulips (they were no longer in bloom when we visited), boxwood surrounds the pergola and as white roses climb the pergola in early spring, it is mixed with white wisteria.

Hillwood’s Roses

Rose Garden Pergola

It was Hillwood’s Rose Garden where Marjorie selected to house her ashes. In the middle of the Rose Garden is a large monument with the Post family coat of arms, inscribed with the Latin phrase roughly translated as “All my hopes rest in me.” Many find this phrase only fitting for this intellectually curious, dynamic and self sufficient woman:

Rose Garden Monument with Marjorie Merriweather Post’s Ashes

Other areas I found particularly beautiful and fun to explore included the Pet Cemetery which welcomes visitors with limestone dogs (poodles, spaniels and hounds) at the entrance. The secluded site feels reverent and clearly shows how beloved Marjorie’s dogs where. Fragrant plants are carefully thought out and it’s a peaceful, beautifully fragrant and special area. I thought it only fitting to see dogtooth violets in bloom around the various graves:

Other beautiful sites within the grounds include a secluded Japanese Style Garden with a small mountain landscape and paths following the water as it flows through the terrain, ending in a peaceful, lower pond. This garden includes many native plants alongside Japanese maple, pines and cedars. There are many Japanese sculptural elements, fountains and lanterns. The turtle seemed pretty happy sunning itself on the rocks, too.

Here are a few other photographs taken from my recent visit to Hillwood (including the unusual Dacha House in a heavily wooded area, surrounded by rhododendrons and azaleas which was built in 1969 during the Cold War. The Dacha takes a nostalgic view of Russian culture and the bright colors used to paint window carvings and the roof’s dome typify Russian churches) – whether it be the carefully selected plantings, the design of each garden vignette, the materials and styles selected for lights and decorations, it’s clear that by visiting Hillwood’s gardens, you are treated to a spectacular sight and you might even learn a little history. No matter what your reason(s) for visiting Hillwood, please consider visiting this, and the many other natural treasures our area offers, in every season as they change as quickly as the weather.

Spring can be an unpredictable season and these days, it feels like there’s a constant struggle between winter and summer with no clear winner declared (so far). It might seem like it’s hard to get into the Swing of Spring, especially with the temperature’s pendulum going from one extreme to another, but no matter what the weather, there are plenty of ways to Swing Into Spring:

Like thousands of others, I’ve become enchanted by the live cam on the eagle’s nest in the National Arboretum (http://dceaglecam.org). This “bird’s eye view” into the 5 foot wide nest high in a Tulip Poplar is a treat and beautiful sight. In addition, one can participate in (or simply read) the information in the “live chat” forum to learn more about the American Eagle Foundation, specifics about this nest and/or information about other nests (in this area and in other locations, too).

From the first signs of the piping process in the two eggs to watching the tiny grey fluffy eaglets mature and become independent, it’s easy to see why an active bird’s nest helps nature lovers get into the Swing of Spring. Just clicking on the website allows visitors to see lovely sights (day and night), such as the screenshot below of the adult feeding freshly caught fish from the Anacostia to the eaglets:

Eaglets

It’s likely that in your yard and/or neighborhood (perhaps right outside your office window), there are many active nests. Some are obvious, others a little less so. Predictably, the prolific Mourning Doves have returned to my yard, taking up residence in the juniper and holly trees. The first active nest was spotted in the holly tree, nestled carefully behind a thick veil of prickly green leaves and in a sturdy “v” at the top of the tree against a brick wall. Mourning Doves might be common birds and I hope my garden attracts more unusual nests over time but for now, as we’re trying to get into the Swing of Spring, nothing could be as much a hallmark of spring as the sight I was lucky to capture (below): the proud mother dove’s hatchling cuddled up with mom for warmth:

Mourning Dove – Mother & Child

There are beautiful signs of spring in my garden and I enjoy seeing many of my favorites slowly return this year. For me, spring is like a treasure hunt – I search the garden and surrounding areas for signs of growth. When I spot something coming to life, it’s the same satisfaction as finding buried treasures. Finding spring’s treasures help me move forward with the new season, no matter what the weather. There are days when things seem to change within the course of a few hours but when the temperatures drop, it’s as if the garden stands still for a while – pressed on the “pause button” – waiting for warmer, sunnier days before the blooms really strut their stuff.

I’m a huge fritillary fan and this year, a new variety in the lavender bed has made for a spectacular sight. Watching it grow has been exciting and helped me get into the spirit of spring:

Fritillaria persica – Emerging

Fritillaria persica – Growing

Fritillaria persica – Blooming

Throughout the garden, color is beginning to emerge and although the morning ritual of touring the beds is not yet a lengthy endeavor, it’s hard not to feel excited by the beautiful sights (and smells) of early spring:

Tulipa

Tulips

Epimedium

Narcissus Oderata

Daffodils

One of the best ways to put both feet into this new season is to visit one of the many spectacular gardens open to the public. My personal favorite is McCrillis Gardens located on Greentree Road, right across from The Woods Academy. From its welcoming gates and lovely stone house at the entrance:

McCrillis’ Gates

McCrillis Stone House

McCrillis Garden is a beautiful garden no matter what the season. Paths meander through the property and the mature beds are filled with beauty. There are benches scattered along the property and it’s a peaceful, casual and always interesting setting. The camellias, bloodroot, hellebores, azaleas, witch hazel and more definitely help me get a whiff of the season and all the treasures to be discovered:

Corylopsis

Hamamelis x Int. ‘Primavera’

Camellia

Camellia japonica hybrid Crimson Candles

Azaleas

Bloodroot

Japanese Skimmia

Whether it’s taking an interest in nesting birds, appreciating your own garden, exploring the nursery for things that might be fun to add to your yard, taking walks through the neighborhood and/or visiting any of the beautiful sights, especially the public gardens, in our area (even with a winter’s sweater on hand just in case the temperatures are a bit chillier than anticipated), these are terrific ways to get into The Swing of Spring.

On a hot summer day in 2006, my husband, children and I piled into the car to go “look at the dogs” at the shelter in Rockville. Many families raise children with dogs and/or their dogs precede a child but we are “late bloomers.” For reasons that now escape us, we thought it prudent to wait a while before taking on the responsibility of raising a dog AND twins. With years of sleep deprivation, milestones and more than a handful of emergency room visits, we just couldn’t imagine adding another member to our family – especially one with four paws. We were running on fumes and when/if we had a moment to ourselves, we ached for rest – if for nothing else, than to catch our breath. Caring for a dog, taking more walks, exploring another aisle in the grocery store and/or hightailing it to another doctor for a check up or emergency appointment seemed unimaginable. I admit it now, because hindsight really is 20/20, it was very unenlightened reasoning.

Yet, on that summer day it just felt like “taking a look at the dogs” would be OK. No harm in looking, right? The twins were learning to drive, babysitters were a thing of the past, independence was the focus of our family and we had settled into as much of a rhythm as any busy family possibly can. Going to “look at dogs” was a harmless afternoon’s event. But you know how that glance ended, how could it be otherwise?

Who were we fooling? Looking at dogs is the same thing as saying, “I’ll just have a bite” of a delicious dessert. Like Lays Potato Chips, there was no way we could stop at one bite. We returned to visit a certain dog at the shelter that captured our attention (and hearts) because she wasn’t a standout. She was not a beautiful lab, a yummy, small, fluffy dog with a sweet disposition nor was she a malleable puppy. The dog that we all – independently – fell in love with was a scrawny, white, quiet, skittish dog that looked more like a fox than a dog.

The sign on the cage said, “be careful of this dog. Skittish and afraid of people.” What were we thinking? How could we not think of her? After all, weren’t we there to find a dog in need? Malnourished and reluctant to be walked, we took a leash to lead her into the back and play. We filled out some forms, within days we had a home study and as they left, they said “you can come get your dog any time now.” So off we went to get Alice. Alice the malnourished, white, skittish, quiet dog in need of food, love, gentle understanding and acceptance.

Alice, it turns out, is a Jindo – an unusual breed in this part of the world. With a little research we found out the breed, known for their intense loyalty, bravery, intelligence and sweet personality were, in 1962, designated as the 53rd National Treasure in Korea.

In South Korea, the story of Baekgu, a Jindo, is so well known it has been the inspiration for movies, books and cartoons. In 1991, Baekgu was sold and taken almost 200 miles away from home but the dog was so determined to return to his original master, Baekgu traveled for seven months to reach home – appearing close to death but, finally, home to its devoted master.

Bringing Alice home and into our lives changed everything but at the same time, we were determined to continue with “life as usual.” We made a lot of mistakes in the beginning. We didn’t realize, at first, that she hated being in a closed room. There’s ample evidence of this in our house: chewed doorframes, deep claw marks in the walls and paint scraped off entranceways. Slowly, we began to learn her likes and dislikes and just like all other dog lovers, Alice became part of our every day activities. She joined me in the garden, we explored the neighborhood, loved taking her for walks along the canal and I often strolled through Locust Grove with her.

Alice

In her first two weeks with us, Alice was quiet. She didn’t like the crate so we let her wander the house. After being so quiet for weeks, we weren’t sure she knew how to bark. One day, the letter carrier came to the house, opened our mailbox to deposit the mail and Alice let out a loud bark. We just happened to be there, heard her lively, healthy bark, looked at each other and said, “she’s a REAL dog!”

When the twins emptied the house for college I had Alice and her presence to comfort me. She protected me, too. The breed’s loyalty and devotion to their “master” is evident with everyone in our family and in so many ways. Because I have orthopedic issues affecting my movements and gait, Alice observes my movement (and mood) and adapts accordingly. When I returned to the house after having spinal procedures, she sat at the top of the steps guarding me. On gloomy days, Alice would often curl up next to me or sit by my feet. She loves our family’s friends and with them, too, she will sit by their feet as if to keep them company and be part of the “action.” A recognizable face at the door was not a call for alarm – instead, Alice announces their arrival with a wag of her tail and an excited little jump at the window.

Alice would come outside with me into the garden. Yes, she barked like crazy when people came to work in the yard and yes, it was annoying. But in a dog’s world I guess she was, just like with the stairs, guarding us. She didn’t think other people belonged in my garden and let me know strangers were there. She tried to protect my garden from the rabbits chewing on the greenery and destroying treasured blooms. My twins will happily tell you about the time I was livid with Alice for chasing a rabbit through my gorgeous, lush, red monarda in pursuit of a rabbit. My monarda was trampled, the rabbit escaped but Alice got my wrath. I’m sorry about that, Alice – flowers return, dogs pass away.

Monarda

Today, Alice is sick and dying. We found out a few days ago she has an aggressive, untreatable cancer and we’ve brought her home to spend as much time with her as possible. We need to adjust to the news and surround her with love. This adjustment, unlike the one ten years ago, is excruciating. She’s not trembling like a puppy – she’s lethargic and despondent. We don’t know if we have days, weeks or months but we do know we will not let her suffer.

For me personally, this is a conflicting and unsettling month. It has been five years since my mother passed away in March and nature is pushing us forward to a new season, a change in our clocks and reminding us there’s life emerging from what looked like a bare landscape. It’s a time many people embrace and anticipate with relief. As a gardener, I do, too, but as a daughter and dog lover, I’m reminded of life’s cycles – including inevitable pain.

Alice won’t see the return of my spring ephemerals this year but in the past, she expressed some curiosity. I can’t attribute appreciation to her because that’s a human trait and I’m not that presumptuous. I will say that much in nature made her sneeze and together, we enjoyed cherry blossom time but paid for it at the end of the day with lots and lots of sneezing and wheezing.

When I started my morning ritual of exploring the garden in warmer weather months, I would leave the door open for Alice just in case she wanted to join me. Unlike many other dogs, she wasn’t into going into the yard in lieu of a walk. She wanted her walks – that’s not what the yard is for (thank you, Alice). Alice knows the neighborhood and has her preferred places and routes. With her, I began finding out about the neighbors’ gardens. Even in snow, Alice wanted/needed her walks and together, we explored. It took a little prodding as she has an aversion to water but there were more than a few memorable snowstorms with Alice – this year we had to shovel a path (and carry her a little) just to find an area where she could walk.

Alice in Snowzilla

Thanks to Alice I know where there are lovely bunches of snowdrops – we see them on different routes throughout the neighborhood and over the years, we’ve become so familiar with their location and when they’ll appear that I’ll take Alice out for a walk just to look for them. When it’s close to the time I know they’ll be in bloom (the ones in my yard aren’t always a good predictor), I’ll bring my camera with me and Alice waits impatiently for me to snap some shots. If/when it snows, I want a “Snowdrops in Snow” picture but typically, Alice isn’t terribly cooperative about that trek. After all, it’s wet, cold and requires her to stop yanking on the leash so I can try to focus.

Neighborhood Snowdrops

Alice and I know which homeowners have taken a lot of time and thought to plant vignettes in the small patch of land by the path to their front doors. I know who has which hellebores, where the first tulips will appear, what color clematis will climb around a neighbor’s wood gate and we watch people fill containers with annuals when the weather settles into summer. Had it not been for Alice, I would never have found a house behind our development on a dead-end street with a front yard full of fig trees.

Neighborhood Growth

Neighborhood Growth

Neighborhood Growth

Alice loves to wander through the wooded area in our neighborhood that will soon be covered with daffodils. When we first moved in, there were a few daffodils scattered in the woods but over the years, as the daffodils spread, it has become a carpet of yellow and new varieties have been added.

Neighborhood Daffodils

With Alice, I watch the change of seasons and notice things I probably wouldn’t bother to investigate on my own. Walking a dog is more than a task, caretaking chore and exercise. It has opened my eyes to the eyes to the beauty I might otherwise walk right by and merely note rather than anticipate and deliberately seek. As Alice sniffs her way through the shrubs I check on the pretty camellias planted decades ago and now are hidden by taller trees. I’ve smelled glorious lilacs in someone’s backyard, not visible from the street but I now know they are there. They’re on one of Alice’s favorite routes – near a school where the children, outside during recess, run over to pet our gentle, soft, loving dog.

Lilacs

Camellia

There are many beautiful quotes about dogs and for those who love dogs, they hold meaning. When people ask me why I named her Alice (and the name was my selection – not the twins), all I can think of is two associations: a favorite poem by A.A. Milne “Buckingham Palace” (says Alice) and the story “Through the Looking Glass.” Alice and I explored nature’s Wonderland.

This is not a unique story and I know there are millions of other dog lovers who have experienced loss . . . and joy. Maybe my twins will, eventually, have dogs in their own homes but it’s unlikely I will ever have the heart to have another dog. It never occurred to me that a dog would introduce me to gardening from a unique perspective but Alice has done exactly that and I hope to somehow honor her in the garden with a fitting planting. Something white, soft, strong and a little exotic. It will be our family’s treasure. For now, my newly acquired weeping pussy willow seems to fit the bill.

Weeping Pussy Willow

Sweet, sweet Alice, we will miss you. Thank you for loving us. We could never have loved a dog more than you.

The other day while strolling through a nursery looking for signs of spring and inspiration, I saw a lot of pussy willow branches, a sure sign of spring’s approach, and chuckled to myself. Always fascinated by the texture of plants (almost as much as color), I’ve consistently been attracted to plants with “people friendly” textures and shunned those less kind to the human touch.

Pussywillows

As a very young child, the soft, velvety texture of a pussy willow attracted me much in the same way as babies form an attachment to a soft, cuddly “blankie” and it becomes a child’s cherished, comforting object. Intrigued by pussy willows, I would rub the soft, white, fuzzy buds between my fingers, loving the velvety texture and the way it felt to stroke the softness – rub it any direction and it became softer and more soothing. The advent of spring, for me, was the bunch of pussy willow branches my mother would place in a vase and seeing forsythia line the street.

My admiration for forsythia wasn’t terrible strong (still not a favorite of mine) but those pussy willows? Joy. Pure joy. I still love them and look forward to having a few sprigs in the house as a way to transition to spring from winter. As a child, however, my admiration for the pussy willow didn’t stop with a simple touch or a glance at the artfully placed branches in a vase. Stashower Lore will happily tell you that I, obsessed with caressing those pussy willow buds, took it one step further . . . and as I held a single pussy willow bud in my hand, feeling the deliciously soft texture, I just couldn’t help myself and I brought that bud up to my face to feel the velvety texture against my skin. Somehow – I just don’t “remember exactly how” that bud ended up . . . in my nostril. As in LODGED in my nose. Panicked, I ran to my mother who clearly was horrified and knew that any attempt to remove it would probably make the situation worse. So, off we went to the pediatrician who, with a scary looking instrument, extracted it.

That experience has kept me from shoving pussy willows up my nose but it hasn’t diminished my love for soft textures and an appreciation for plants that, in my definition, are “people friendly.” At the same time, I’ve also developed a strong dislike for plants that are sharp, prickly and to my touch, aren’t welcoming, comforting or soothing. Yes, it’s just another thing to add to my persnickety selection of plants: it’s about color, fragrance, growth pattern, interest and . . . texture.

My preference(s) for certain textures and dislike for others always comes into play when planting, selecting stems for bouquets and/or merely enjoying the scenery. I despise plants with sharp edges because if I can’t enjoy touching them or they discourage exploration, they are banished from my yard. The first to fall victim to my less than rational attitude was removing a Pyracantha (AKA “Firethorn” which I feel is particularly apt) near the entrance to our garden. The orange berries were delightful, I loved the way birds were attracted to it and it took up enough real estate in a not yet developed garden to warrant its placement – it really wasn’t doing any harm. But when I got near it and was pierced by the thorns and found it impossible to prune without “gearing up” I knew it had to go. Those lovely orange berries would have been delightful in a vase near the window, particularly against a backdrop of snow, but those sharp thorns and rigid branches were too big a deterrent so, with help, I was perfectly fine removing it from the garden.

Pyracantha

In its place are my beloved Corylus avellana ‘Contorta’ (no berries but that corkscrew silhouette during winter more than makes up for the lack of color) and an Edgeworthia chrysantha (providing the brilliant color in warmer months).

Corylus avellana

Edgeworthia chrysantha

To be fair, I appreciate the aesthetics of many plants and landscapes that are strictly “hands off” and when, years ago, we enjoyed the unique, spectacular sights of the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum in Tucson (https://www.desertmuseum.org), I developed newfound appreciation for that magnificent landscape. The shape of the saguaro cactus with white flowers in spring and covered with red fruit in summer is magnificent and a hallmark of the Sonoran Desert. I appreciate their history and ability to adapt to a specific climate but all the same, those spines definitely kept me at arm’s length. The incredible variety of cacti were lovely to observe and learn about – I would love to see the desert in bloom and it is a photographer’s dream any time of the year but when texture comes into play, my preference is to admire these plants through a lens and from a distance. I would love to see the desert in bloom but have no desire to try my hand at growing cacti no matter where I live.

Fish Hook Barre – Sonoran Desert

Cactus Garden – Sonoran Desert Museum

I wasn’t crazy about learning about ‘the jumping cholla cactus” and discovering how this plant’s common name came to be. While in Albuquerque one summer for a family bar mitzvah, my husband and I spent an afternoon exploring a shopping district, wandering into cafes, looking at the shops and enjoying a quirky neighborhood. The streets, lined with lovely landscapes of native plantings, seemed removed from foot traffic yet I managed to lose my footing, tripped and fell right into a tiny patch of native plantings – including one of those jumping cholla cacti. I think every single thorn jumped off their cactus and landed directly into my sunburned, already sensitive skin. Hours later, after suffering the indignity of it all and painstakingly (literally and figuratively) pulling out those prickers one by one with a tweezers, I once again vowed to steer clear from plants that couldn’t welcome someone’s skin without protection. It might not be an enlightened gardener’s view or very practical – it might limit my inventory – but at least I won’t feel the pain of gardening merely by walking past a plant!

Jumping Cholla Cactus

In my own yard in Maryland, the previous owners lined the walls defining our yard with hollies. You guessed it – not a favorite. I appreciate the year round color, I like the berries and the birds they attract and yes, they mask the ugly walls I despise in our yard but slowly, I’m trying to replace those hollies with other choices – leaves that don’t get stuck in bare feet and welcome people into the garden. So far I’ve removed quite a few and found suitable replacements but this is going to be a long, expensive process.

Holly in my Garden

If I could fill my yard with plants that encourage touch, I would. Even if touch isn’t the goal, I would be satisfied with plants that, at the very least, don’t discourage people from appreciating their beauty. I’ve added a smokebush because the fluffy “smoke” hovering above the bush is both beautiful and doesn’t repel someone who might brush up against it and many other shrubs add interest, height, texture and color, helping to evolve the landscape. The succulents I’ve added might not be the sort one would spend a long time touching but they’re not going to harm anyone and I enjoy them all the more when they bloom.

I love lamb’s ears, multi-hued, velvety violets, rows of edibles, exuberant sundrops, feathery amsonia and the way many plants sway in the wind. The lush, almost jelly-like filled succulents, stonecrop, fescue, nepeta, scotch broom, sedum, lady’s mantle and spring ephemerals in the Green Bed add color, pattern and yes, acceptable texture. You won’t find any plants with thorns or stiff textures in my landscape if I can help it. Slowly, over time, I hope to be surrounded with color, interesting, varied, welcoming and people friendly plants that encourage exploration with no fear of injury. I’d like my garden to say, “Please, Touch Me!” It’s OK with me to touch the puffy globe of allium and walk through the native bed to gather phlox, cardinal lobelia, bluebells, daisies, lily of the valley, mountain mint, helenium, camass and more. The fothergill, nine bark, hydrangea, viburnum, witch hazel and little gem magnolia have replaced many hollies and I’m trying to figure out what shrubs and/or trees will be added this year. Like everyone else’s garden, mine is a work in progress and there are so many variables as well as seasons of trial and error. But what you won’t find in my garden will be new plantings that intentionally discourage visitors from touching, smelling and experiencing (safely) the landscape.

Lamb’s Ear

Soft Green Bed

Soft Green Path

Phlox

As spring approaches and the beautiful beginning of a new season emerges, I hope to soon begin my morning ritual of exploring the garden and delighting in whatever nature brings. No shoes required.